


Roll The Dice

by PlumTea



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 05:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30050760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/pseuds/PlumTea
Summary: One fallen angel, not quite fallen, shelling peanuts in the Grandcypher's corner cafe.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Roll The Dice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Magepaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magepaw/gifts).



> Happy white's day to Miyu, hope you enjoy this part of our exchange.

It's the third time Sandalphon has sneezed in the last half hour. He finishes wiping the coffee mug and says, "That's enough peanuts for today."

Sariel disagrees. There's about five sacks of peanuts underneath the bar, and he's only gotten halfway through the one behind him. But it's Sandalphon's cafe, and he's the one tapping his heel against the tile and wiping down the tabletops, so Sariel resolves to stop after he finishes the pile next to him. He has not joined the crew, but he sometimes helps out when the girl in blue calls his name. It'll be a few more hours until Hal and Mal swing by the ship to pick him back up, and until then, he has a job to do. 

Djeeta lumbers through the door, fresh bruises on her face and tears in her black dress. The blades on her belt clank against the barstool when she sits down, kicking off her heels and throwing them into the corner. Sandalphon has a cup in front of her before she can ask, and she downs it all without looking at what’s in it. 

“How did this round go?” Sandalphon asks, like he already knows the answer.

“He slapped Yurius with his sword first thing.”

“Not well then.”

“Not well at all.” A crunch meets her ears, and she smiles at Sariel then. “Are you helping Sandalphon out?”

“There’s enough peanuts for… fifty-seven people.” He cracks another shell between his fingers, and places it on the pile. “Fifty-eight.”

She laughs, taking portion number fifty-eight and chomping it down. “Thanks for helping out before. Lyria yanked you away from wherever you were, but now we have time to talk. How have you been?”

Djeeta looks at him, at _him_ , one of the few people without wings on their back who seek him out. His voice cracks then, dusty and croaky from not speaking much except in response or to himself. Aches and pains are signs of battle, but this is an ache he can force himself through. "Traveling is fun. The beach is still sunny." The crabs pinches his ankles last he stood in the sand, unblinking at the sunset. He chased a beetle to a hollowed-out island, building relics crumbling around a dragon shifting with smoke and red scales. “Still haven’t found the rainbow.”

Her face stiffens then, words bubbling in her throat. Another peanut shell cracks open, spilling dust all over Sariel's hands. 

“You know something.”

He watches her lip curl, the dark circles under her eyes growing stronger as she tilts her head down. Sandalphon still washes out one of the machines, but his cloth moves much slower than before.  "Sometimes a crack in the world's canvas appears in the Edgelands." Her voice dips low, like she's whispering to herself. 

Sariel's heart drags to a stop. "Sorry, Sarry," echoes Belial's voice, duskily amused before the world blackened. The nubs of his regrowing wings ache along the base of his spine. How they'd hurt when they were torn free, power and abyssal dark wrenched from his core. 

“They tried to end the world.” He’s not really sure what that means. It’s too large for him to think of, like one of tall tales that Az sometimes chirps about after the comes back from the shores. Djeeta sees the stillness in his face and says, “It would’ve squashed all the ants.”

“All of them?”

“Everywhere.”

He thinks of Lucilius, sharp-eyed and frowning, robes billowing behind him as he’d snap from one lab to the next. Unsmiling when he’d cut the dead flesh away from Sariel as he regenerated after another endless battle, who’d mutter positives under his breath without it ever reaching his eyes. He never seemed to hate the ants, he never looked at the ground. And Belial, sculpted words and eternal smile, he only ever looked where Lucilius was looking.  “How is the Head Researcher?”

“He’s fine.” Her face sours into a grimace. “He might be a little _too_ fine.”

"How is the Deputy Head?"

Sandalphon hisses behind them. Djeeta's expression sours, somehow exasperated and amused at the same time. "Causing trouble, as always."

When the girl in blue calls for him, he swings his scythe for her. For the people who'd reached their hands and helped when they didn't have to. How many times did Sandalphon cross his arms and shut his mouth when Sariel would ask about Belial? How many times did Hal and Mal's eyes go downcast when he'd talk about his journeys? Belial was never a good person, Sariel has always known this. But he can look at the truth and get answers. 

"Singularity," he asks, quiet and slow. "Next time you go, can you call for me?"

* * *

The Head Researcher is not happy to see him. The Head Researcher is not happy to see any of them. Sariel barely gets a word out before Lucilius opens fire, and his voice can't carry high enough over the blades clashing to get a proper word in. By the time the clock runs out, the masked erune is supporting most of his weight on his right leg, the knight's black armor is sporting a few new gashes across the breastplate, and the eerie harvin is glaring tonelessly at the gap in the beyond. Djeeta is caked in dust, lip split open and dress in tatters. She spits out a bloody glob, wiping dirt from her face. 

Lucilius snarls, white fangs visible even through bright blue flames, knocked down but not defeated. Space churns around him as the void demands its prisoner return once again. He is too weak to do more than growl as the threads of the world unravel and curl around him, luminous and rainbow, and then he is gone from the edge of the sky.

"I didn't get to say anything," Sariel murmurs.

"He doesn't like talking much," she gently reminds him, limping to his side. She has to stand on her tiptoes to pat his shoulder. "Next time."

A lead is better than none. He clutches his scythe tighter. Next time. 


End file.
